


Young Volcanoes (We are Wild)

by dreamonlosers



Series: Last Ride In 'Verse [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Devil's Nest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamonlosers/pseuds/dreamonlosers
Summary: They had found the kids nearly frozen over and tickled with bits of snow, huddled together in the little alleyway behind the bar. A quaint fire made of splintered wood from places untouched by the damp sleet and pieces of their clothes gave glowing licks of orange and yellow over their flushed, pale faces. Dublith had been hit hard that winter and they were its unfortunate victims.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw this idea in a lot of places - what if Ling and Lan Fan hooked up with Greed's gang before Bradley wiped them out and...something...happened that found the kids in Dublith in winter without Fu? Probably going to be part of a longer series so things could be explained and I'm actually having so much fun writing this storyline. Message me if you want to help add things to this series, or find me on tumblr (www.tumblr.com/orangecreampopsicle).

They had found the kids nearly frozen over and tickled with bits of snow, huddled together in the little alleyway behind the bar. A quaint fire made of splintered wood from places untouched by the damp sleet and pieces of their clothes gave glowing licks of orange and yellow over their flushed, pale faces. Dublith had been hit hard that winter and they were its unfortunate victims. 

It would’ve been easy to let the elements make its own casket around the two, then salvage what they had left—oddly ornate knives, smoke bombs, and a Dao blade stuck to the boy’s back—but the girls would protest, some of the chimeras, too. As if being children was more of a reason to take them inside, but they could always work for their stay. The girl, at least, would easily find work.

The boy, however—well, the homunculus wasn’t sure that he would even survive the night. It wouldn’t give the bar good face if there was a dying kid on one of the couches—as if one couldn’t open the bathroom door to find someone choking on their own rum and vomit—so they lugged him into the dingy kitchen behind the counter. The girl stumbled behind them, staying as close as possible to her friend as she muttered in a language that he didn’t understand, but it sounded as though they were from way across the desert. No wonder they were doing so poorly.

Struggling to look stronger than she looked, the girl gasped out, “Food, he needs food.” Her words were broken and desperate, already clambering over the kitchen island to find something to give him. Someone passed her a piece of fruit that she forced into the boy’s mouth, waking him up just enough that he could eat it before fading out again. A stifled sob as she curled into herself, sitting next to him on the floor and snarling at anyone who tried to get close to the two and pulling her knives. It was endearing in its own sad little manner, but no way to give thanks to the people who had rescued them from the harsh weather. 

He waved the others out of the room and crouched next to the kids, too close for the girl’s comfort but he’d be damned if he let a little girl boss him around in his own damned bar. She stared at him, her eyes wanting to be fierce but coming out uncertain as they looked into his—foreign and inhuman, deep violet like the bruise on her exposed knee.

Greed sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Kid, you gotta relax.”

She didn’t, instead regarding him as though he was one of the monsters waiting in her closet to tear her apart while she sleeps—which could have been at any moment, given the dark rings underneath her eyes that said she had gone days without any proper rest. The girl was a fighter, he thought; she fought her enemies, her friends, and herself.

It was pitiful to watch her struggle with herself, too, but she had every reason to treat him with caution—she had likely seen the whores amongst the bar and heard the low, pained moans of dying addicts in hidden corners. It wasn’t something that she wanted to get mixed up in. But, looking at the boy, he already knew that she would sacrifice everything—had already sacrificed everything—for him, for something he had wanted, his greed. He recognized the expression on her face, reminding him of far too many people he had met before.

And they were _kids_ , a few years away from adulthood, somewhere between ages fourteen and sixteen. About a fifth of their lives were likely spent together, chasing their dreams until they wound up nearly dead outside of a rundown bar where patrons went to overdose and die, or to kill other people, or to find a cheap fuck. Others had no clue what they were in for, likely too stupid to realize until it was too late and they were heading home with criminals. Whether Greed was or was not indirectly responsible for their fates, he didn’t care—he wasn’t going to babysit humans.

But the girl suddenly said, “Please help us,” and that was the end.

It was possible to mistake her hushed voice for the rush of wind outdoors, and she didn’t look at him when she spoke. There wasn’t much that the homunculus knew to do when a human was so desperate, but he did know one thing that he could do for them, and that was to cook.

Two bowls of bread and gravy were set on the floor. The bread was cold and the gravy was bland but it was the best he could muster; he never really had to cook before and he wasn’t going to try to make a gourmet meal for a pair of kids on his kitchen floor—and they weren’t in any place to turn down food of any kind, really. Lucky for them, it wasn’t dust bunnies and fleas.

She took her time to study the meal, despite having watched him make it so closely that she could’ve been a preying vulture perched over his head. Then, carefully, soaked the bread in the sauce and watched it drip back into the bowl before taking a bite out of it. Although she was wary, she was willing, and that was the best he was going to get out of her—for the night, at least. But she was much more hesitant to feed it to the boy.

“If you’re worried that I pissed or jizzed in it, you saw me make it. Hell, though, it would be good mannered to not look so disgusted in front of the chef—a little decency would be nice.” 

There was a blank expression on her face, and it was better than the stressed one from before. He could see her features better—strands of dark hair sticking to the sides of her face, a splash of freckles decorating the bridge of her nose. She turned away from him, towards the boy, and couldn’t wake him enough so that he could feed himself, so she resolved to do it herself. Thank god he could chew on his own, however—they would have to find a funnel, otherwise.

Greed didn’t quite remember being a teenager himself—of course, he never really started out as a child, either. Some of the chimeras had told him before that being on the cusp of adulthood while still holding on to the youthful attitude they had been so accustomed with had been pretty strange, to say the least. But certainly not the worst times of their lives—those would be the labs. A couple of teenagers had been in the labs, but they didn’t make it, apparently. He wondered where the kids in front of them had been, besides right outside his bar.

It was a relief when Dorochet came into the room—he wasn’t sure how to progress to the next thing with the girl, although she resumed her hostile temperament and snarled at him. The homunculus sighed as he and the chimera stepped aside. 

When asked, the chimera said, “Some of th’girls are worried about those kids, boss—a lot of them. Especially the boy. Are ya gettin’ anywhere with ‘em? I mean, do we gotta start clearin’ out one of th’closets or somethin’?”

Greed glanced over to the kids, putting his hands in his pockets and lolling his head back. Yeah, they were going to have to do something with them. But he didn’t want them getting attached, either, especially if they had the opportunity that the chimeras didn’t have—return to the living society. The building was the _Devil’s Nest_ , not _Mister Greed’s Home for the Unwanted and Unloved_.

He shrugged. “If one of the girls want to give them a place, they’re free to do so. I don’t care; I’m laying off—although they need to pay us back somehow, so make sure they stick around, eh?”

Dorochet nodded. “Right, boss.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, yeah, I got the title of this story from Fall Out Boy's Save Rock and Roll album.

Greed didn’t stick around to know whose room the kids slept in—probably May’s or Lori’s, they were always the most maternal. Being working women, he thought it was a tad ironic—always avoiding having kids of their own until they find a couple dying ones outside, and then they were all up in arms about making sure they were okay. 

Instead, he went to find Martel, who was serving drinks that night and nearing the end of her shift, but he didn’t remember so much time passing. A flaming Jägermeister was slid across the counter and he snagged it before it teetered and fell off the edge, grinning. She huffed and started pouring another.

“So, those kids—Dorochet told me they’re from Xing,” she said, handing the drink to another patron. “That true?”

He nodded, although it was the first time he heard it. 

“Goddamn, that’s a long way.” Her voice was far too quiet; Greed looked up.

Poorly masked sympathy had clouded her expression, suddenly making her seem much older than she was. Her eyes crinkled with concentration and she looked as though she was about to say something, but closed her mouth and turned to her work. All these fucking years and he had thought that time was the only thing that could age someone. The taunting tick of the cuckoo clock was looming over them and it felt like rocks were sitting in his stomach.

Humans didn’t age like alcohol did—it’s why he owned a goddamned bar. While booze got better with time, his people would rot and waste away in front of him, and all he could say is, “ _Bottoms up_.”

Stilling his shaking hand, he looked at the woman on the other side of the counter. She had cleared her face and was smiling again, holding up two bottles and asking him which he wanted. He pointed to the left one, as clear as a summer day and topped with ugly vodka.

It burned down his throat like a trail of tiny embers, but he knew the buzz that was coming over him would be far shorter than he hoped; his body metabolized alcohol quicker than any human body could. Martel sniggered at him, the cheeky bitch. “You’re worried about them,” she pointed out.

He snarled at her, but they both knew it was an empty threat. Right now, he wasn’t up for this, and she probably wasn’t, either. So, instead, the two would just drink until dawn and toast to the beginning of a long winter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a kudos or comment if you did, and criticism is always embraced.


End file.
